


Strangers in the night.

by thecrownofthereveur



Series: (in my dreams we were) strangers in the night [1]
Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Canon Divergence - Demon in a Bottle, Depression, Drinking to Cope, Film Noir, Frostiron Bang 2015, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:03:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5194928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecrownofthereveur/pseuds/thecrownofthereveur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark is a man constructed by masks. He has plenty of them. One for his fellow Avengers. One for the press. One for his lovers. And another one for himself, when his only partner is a bottle of strong scotch. One day, Loki gets to see behind Tony’s masks, to the man itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strangers in the night.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to this years Frostiron Bang, it's my first time in something like this so let's just see how it went. This story is supposed be set in the early 1960s. I truly enjoy noir movies, so I wanted to make this something like Blue Velvet or Casablanca. (I apologize for any mistake about the timeline 'cause I know there must be some :s).
> 
> This fanfic is base on the events that take place in the Ironman comic Demon in a Bottle. So maybe you'd like to check what it's about before reading.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy what I've wrote. This is the first part of a series of 3 parts approximately. I don't have any beta reader and english is not my first language, so there must be some grammar/spelling mistakes here and there.

 

**PROLOGUE.**

 

The night was dark. The moon hidden by a grey fog. It was going to rain soon. Tony knew _he_ managed himself better on the shadows. Tony knew he couldn’t possibly catch him, blinded by the darkness. Even then, he kept running. He could hear his heart beating on his ears, his lungs been filled and unfilled again by cold air. He didn’t had his armor, not anymore. If he was attacked, he didn’t stand a chance. But he was ready to take that possibility.

The streets were empty. Neon lights illuminated the path as Tony passed below them. The ground, near the sewers, was wet. It had been an uneventful night until now, quiet. Tony had been working on his office with Doctor Banner. Shield’s call had come rather unexpectedly. Fury had told him he didn’t needed to intervene, that it would just cause him more troubles. But Tony went along with the others anyway. When they were left behind on the chasing, he couldn’t tell.

Tony turned around in a corner, towards an empty alley. He could see the shadow, running on the building’s rooftops. Ever furtive. Ever elegant. Never close enough to touch. When it entered the warehouse, Tony followed almost without thinking. When he got inside it was too late for regret it. The place was wet and silent. Most likely abandoned. Here, Tony found the shadow, not running anymore. It was standing straight in the center of the room. Facing him. Blackness was covering most of its features. _He_ was looking at Tony, he could sense it. He could see the green eyes, shining in the darkness.

‘Where’s your armor, Man of Iron?’ he asked in a rough voice. His words resounded in the entire place, hitting the walls, making an echo. He was smiling. Tony knew better to kept his distance, staying in between the door frames. ‘Let’s just say it’s in the workshop,’ he said.

Loki laughed in a strong, deep baritone. Again, it made an echo. A pale moonlight was entering the place through the windows. Tony felt fear creeping on him. When Loki moved towards him with silent steps, a mild light enlightened his white face. ‘And what are you going to do without your armor, Man of Iron?’ he asked. He was no longer smiling. His face was as serious as Tony had ever seen it. He would have liked to move, say something. But he couldn’t. His mouth was dry and his limbs motionless.

Loki made a gesture. A mild movement with his head towards the warehouse windows. He was telling him something. Tony could have pretended not having notice it. But he didn’t. He considerate it. He thought about the others, who were surely on their way there. He thought about Loki, standing in front of him. This was a game they were so accustomed to play, and yet Tony still found it curious. Like a strange mixture. A nameless sensation. To put it an end with Loki’s imprisonment wouldn’t had let him feeling satisfied. He gulped at this idea, and a small nod was all that it took.

He could hear the sound of people running outside, getting closer. When the others avengers reach the place, Tony would be alone. The warehouse as empty as if no one had ever been there but him. Tony would curse, looking at The Captain with disappointment in his face for not having caught their target. He would play along. He would pretend. He would not talk about the green eyes in the warehouse rooftop, watching thought the windows, glowing in silence. The Team would leave, and Tony would remain just for one more second, watching the pale moonlight. But for now, he just stared, feeling Loki’s warm breath against his face, seeing the way in which his lips curved into a smile, hearing the loud sound of his breathing at inches from him. So close, but never enough to touch.

 

 

**Part 1.**

Masks that we wear.

 

Outside it was dark. A thin and cold air was coming thought the window. Down the street, just some pedestrians were left walking by the sidewalk. Tony Stark was sitting on the window frame, watching them carefully. His features, strong but calm, looked transfixed by the light of the late afternoon.

‘Tony, come here and make me some company,’ Bethany Cabe said, shifting herself on the hotel bed. Her long red hair seemed darker on the white pillows.

Tony made a soft laugh. A shadow in the back of the bed was covering the left side of Bethany’s face. She was smiling.

‘I’m sorry, Beth,’ Tony said approaching the bed. ‘I just have a lot on my mind lately.’

Bethany sat on the bed, embracing Tony with her long arms. She leaned on the bed, resting backwards and taking his body with hers. ‘You say that every day of your life, Tony,’ she said.

Tony seemed indignant. He arched one of his black eyebrows. ‘Really?’ he asked, with his strong characteristic tone. ‘But this is not every day of my life, is it?’

Bethany laughed, her nude chest growing and decreasing with her soft voice. New York, bright but quiet outside the window, wouldn’t have amazed Tony more than her green eyes, looking at him with mindfulness. He hadn’t felt like this for someone in quite a time.

‘What do you want?’ he asked, serious.

‘Whatever you want.’

‘No, seriously.’

‘I don’t want you to give me anything, Tony. What I want, I can get it at anytime, all by myself.’

‘You are a firm woman, then.’

Tony said, pleased. He was nervous. The game that had brought them both in here was over and little experience he had in anything but games. It was a strange feeling. Maybe this was what was like to be truly interested in someone.

Then Tony noticed how a corner of Bethany’s lip trembled. Black lips from a black lipstick, thick and shaped. Then, a pause. A slight premonition. ‘Tony,’ she whispered. ‘Tell me about The Carnelian Ambassador. What it’s happening?’

He chuckled at that. Little did he want to think about the bitter events that had occurred the last weeks.

‘Why do you want to know about that?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said, her eyes wandering smoothly on the ceiling.

‘Then why do you ask?’

 ‘You know why, you are acting strange lately.’

‘Oh, how would you know? I’m always strange.’

‘…’

‘What?’

‘Aren’t you afraid?’

‘Why would I?’

‘I don’t know. You are been investigated. Everybody thinks that...’

‘That I what?’

‘That you killed that man…’

Silence. Abysmal silence trapping them both.

‘I didn’t,’ Tony said with security. An icy feeling was spreading on him, a momentary anger.

Bethany Cabe stayed quiet. A cold, unwelcomed quietness that Tony would have wanted to erase from his mind. He stood up instead, walking towards the door. ‘Let’s not think about that. Now, what do you think if we go back downstairs and ask for a bottle of champagne?’

‘Oh, Tony,’ she said, smiling once again. ‘Haven’t you drunk enough for tonight?’

‘Have I? I really doubt it, Ms. Cabe.’

They both chuckled. Tony leaned on the chair near the window to grab his clothes, looking at the darkness outside. The shadows slowly climbing inside the Hotel room. Right now a drink was the only thing he needed.

 

The news didn’t take much time on reaching the newspapers. Then again, that was normal in this ever growing city. Here and there, Tony would found the first pages of the papers portraying a big, strong man dressed in a red and gold armor, posing for the cameras. He would, if he turned the radio, hear the broadcasters talking about it. And he would, in the mornings with a hot cup of coffee in his hands, see the news tellers giving a speech about vigilantes and justice along with the latest news of the stock exchange or of what was happening with the Vietnam War. _‘We cannot let things like this go unpunished,’_ they would say.

But Tony had been punished.

Wasn’t he been investigated? His enterprise too?

But none news teller would have cared about that, he realized.

Tony readjusted his raincoat’s neck. It was cold. Outside the limo, tiny raindrops were starting to fall against the window. When he was a kid Tony Stark used to love rainy days. Now they just brought him a gloomy feeling.

‘Stop here,’ Tony told to his driver. He took his hat and umbrella and opened the door. Outside, a crowded grey city was waiting for him. He closed the door and started to walk. He had a party to attend to.

 

It was a night gala. Some kind of celebration for Stark International’s anniversary. Tony had been surprised to get an invitation, even if it was a party offered by his own company. As far as he knew his presence was a bad press on these days.  But been already there, and if he was receiving free drinks, well, that was always good, not minding the occasion. He didn’t brought Bethany with him, somehow he suspected she would have hated it even more than he did. It was a themed gala, after all. And little love did Bethany hold for masquerades. But Tony liked them, in a strange way. Like this, people wouldn’t put eyes on him, whispering, talking about the day headlines that had his picture. He was grateful just for that.

‘I’m telling you, Tony,’ one of the men sat on the bar, an old stockholder of the enterprise was telling him. ‘Stark International should invest in a section of development for aeronautical engineering. That’s the future. Those Russians are going it already.’

Tony nodded at him with slight boredom. Even interested in the subject, he wouldn’t have been able to pay attention. Right now, he was too distracted to care about it. It was there, sitting in the bar with a drink on his hand, when Tony saw him. A slender, elegant figure that carried itself among the guests. His mask, of a navy blue color, was not different from the ones of all the other persons in the room. Yet this one was different. Tony could see through this disguise, if he made an effort. The tall, dark haired man behind it spotted him and smiled. It was the same smile from days ago, in the dark of the warehouse. Tony held himself still, lifted his drink slightly as a response. The man must have found it funny, because his smiled went even wider before making a gesture with his head towards the terrace of the building. Tony doubted. Then the man was gone, lost between all the masks whom they shared the room with.

Before he knew it, Tony was standing up to follow him.

‘Excuse me for a second, Sir,’ he told to the old stockholder, ‘I have to do something.’

 

Tony found him in the terrace of the place, looking down at the city below them. He was neatly dressed, as always. A three pieces suit, expensive looking. Behind him, Tony could see the lights of New York. Millions of little flickers of fire that never went out, illuminating the street, the buildings, the people. At night, they weren’t nearly as many in Malibu’s beach.

‘I didn’t know you liked parties,’ he said, walking towards the railing from which Loki was holding himself. At the sound of Tony’s voice, he turned his head back. ‘I love them,’ he responded. ‘But I’m rarely invited to them.’

‘It must be refreshing,’ Tony said, ‘I’m always getting invitations for parties I’m not interested in attending.’

‘But you attend to them anyway.’

It wasn’t a question.

Tony shifted his weight on his feet, smiling.

‘I guess I do.’

He looked towards the sky. Tonight it was black, with no stars. He still could hear the music playing in the inside of the building. The voices. The laughs. The slow drum of jazz. He had never liked this kind of parties, full of people whose names he didn’t knew. He looked at Loki, at the navy blue mask that covered his face, and sighed. He seemed strange tonight, something to do with his tired expression and his relentless movements. Maybe he was sad. Tony couldn’t tell.

‘I heard what happened,’ Loki said suddenly, ‘with the carnelian ambassador.’

Tony felt his chest tightening just at the mention. Once again, he felt anger.

‘I didn’t do it,’ he said, dryly.

‘I know you didn’t,’ Loki responded. ‘Why would you?’

Tony didn’t respond. Loki had given a step towards him, standing closer than before. He could see his mask clearly, the cut of the eyes, the little details, the glitter shinning. ‘I like your mask,’ he said.

At the comment, he saw how Loki’s expression turned into a smile.

‘I like yours as well. But I still prefer the other one.’

Tony frowned, confused.

‘Which one?’

‘The one you where wearing when I met you. That’s a mask, too.’

Tony blinked. He was talking about his armor. That one he didn’t had anymore, the one Shield had taken away from him. He lifted his gaze to meet Loki’s green eyes, partly covered by his mask. He faltered when one of his hands, shaking, got close to the god’s face, taking the mask lightly to put it away. Loki flinched inmediately, closing his eyes.

‘Don’t,’ he said, in a whisper.

Tony frowned again, not taking the mask, but neither removing his hand from the god’s face.

‘Why not?’ he asked, disappointed.

‘That’s what this game is about,’ Loki responded. He was close enough for Tony to touch his skin. ‘We get to keep our masks on.’

‘Why?’

‘If we don’t it wouldn’t be fun.’

‘…’

Tony removed his hand awkwardly, not trembling anymore. He stepped backwards from the god. Loki looked at him, from behind his mask. Maybe he was disappointed too. He opened his lips like for saying something, make a question.  But the moment was over. Tony could understand it now, what Loki was seeking for, the reason why he had come to the party.

‘Make me a favor, Man of iron,’ Loki told him. ‘Don’t tell Thor that you saw me here tonight.’

Tony limited himself to give him a look.

‘I never do it,’ he said, like if it was obvious.

Then Loki was leaving, going back to the party. His slender figure disappearing through the door. But Tony knew he wouldn’t find him there when he came back himself. He would go back to the bar, and finish his abandoned whisky. Feel the warm sensation of alcohol running down his throat, slowly making him forget all about this conversation.

 

The white sheets on Tony’s desk had been there for a while, not moving from their spot. He had been observing them for a quite a time already. And it had been as much, a waste of irrecoverable time. Tony was painfully aware of the old watch besides the door. His tiny clock’s hands were still moving. A sound of _tick-tack_ that only made his brow hurt.

‘Jarvis,’ he called. ‘Would you be so kind to make coffee and bring it here? Thank you.’

 ‘Of course, Sir, would you want it with sugar or milk?’ his old, well trusted butler asked him. He was dressed in a perfect, well ironed suit. His white hair neatly combed.

‘Neither,’ Tony responded. Jarvis nodded, before taking his leave. He was always efficient with his work.

Tony lit a cigarette, just for entertainment. He had been trying to work the whole afternoon, mostly without success. He wasn’t able to concentrate even in the simplest projects he was working on. The hours, and with them the night had fell upon Tony and the rest city. Here in his office, hidden from plain sight, Tony had a secret. An armor, well kept in the bookcase beside the old watch. He felt tempted to open it, to take the black bag and put it on his desk among his papers.

Tony breathed in from his cigarette, feeling the hot smoke on his throat, going down to his lungs. ‘Let’s see,’ he murmured, tentatively grabbing the secret door of the bookcase. When he opened the bag, the first thing he saw were two red gloves on top of the armor. He missed it, to put it on. The armor SHIELD had taken from him after the Plaza’s incident had been one of his favorites. Tony ignored if it was going to be handed back to him after the case was closed. He doubted it.

Tony glanced at the door, Jarvis wouldn’t be back for a while and all of his assistants were gone for the day. He put his cigarette on the ashtray of his desk to lift one of the gloves. From its center was shedding a thin yellow light. Tony couldn’t but think about put it on practice. It wouldn’t have been right to let the thing go rust, would it?

But memories were, as they say, a strong thing, and they wouldn’t have let him try it even if he had wanted. Tony leaned on his chair with resignation. The image of the people observing him while taking the Plaza’s pictures came to him suddenly. The Ambassador’s bright smile beside him. Tony’s hand (Ironman’s hand) resting on his shoulder, a sign of well understanding between him and Stark International. ‘ _The Carnelian’s contract finally closed, thanks to the Man of Iron,_ ’ the papers would have said the day after.

That was the main reason why the investors of Stark International had asked him to come. And how wouldn’t they? The Ambassador had proven himself to be such an admirer. He had even asked Ironman for an autograph.

Tony made a bitter grimace. All that just to make sure the man signed a contract. It all had been well until the repulsor of his armor had been activated. Tony still remembered the pained look in the man’s face when he was falling, dying. The shocked expression in the entire crowd in front of him. His own panic.

Tony put the glove once again in the black bag. His cigarette was still on the ashtrays, his weak fire lifting a light smoke. Tony crushed it.

He knew the armor had been activated remotely. He knew someone had taken control of _his_ creation. And that that someone had wanted this to happen. For the public to doubt of him, for SHIELD to have enough reasons to distrust him even more than they already did. For destroying him. He knew too that in theory, this hadn’t been his fault. And still…

Tony returned the bag to the bookcase. Jarvis would be back very soon with his coffee, and he would put himself to work. If he did it well enough, he wouldn’t have to think about all these things. Then again, that was the reason why he couldn’t work properly. He sighed, and all of a suddenhe felt very tired. He remembered the gala, some days ago. Loki’s elegant figure leaning on the railing of the terrace. His mask, hiding his bright green eyes. Tony took a pen from his desk, and grabbed some of the paperwork he still had left. If he couldn’t draw a blueprint, at least he could sign some documents. He have to occupy his mind with something else for a while, it didn’t mattered what it were.

 

 

**Part 2.**

A demon in a bottle.

 

That night, during his sleep, Tony had a nightmare. It had passed quite a time since he had a nightmare, he thought, sitting on his bed, looking at the darkness. Eighteen months, exactly. He was covered in night sweat, his clothes were sticking to his body unpleasantly. In his chest, his heart was pounding faster than usual. Tony stood up, walking towards the closed window. The lights of the city illuminated his face. In the glass, Tony found his reflection transfixed.

When he was in Vietnam, he dreamed almost every night. He dreamed about his friends. About women he could have been with. About Stark International. About his home. But when he came back, he found himself only dreaming about Vietnam. Heavy nightmares that would make him sweat or struggle, in occasions, scream.

The nightmare it was about the day Yinsen had died. He remembered to have found his body in a hallway, near the exit of Wung Chu’s fortress. It was a memory that haunted him. He turned around, feeling nausea coming to him in waves. He had drunk too much last night. He had been doing that a lot, lately. It was the only thing he could do to put his mind at peace. He was chased by the notion that his life no longer belonged to him. That he was different. But he couldn’t come to terms with in what.

Feeling his throat dry, Tony headed himself to the kitchen. It was nearly four o’clock in the morning. The sky outside was colored by a grayish blue. He poured himself a glass of water. Inside him, he could feel his stomach revolved. Tony closed his eyes, leaning on the sink. His head was spinning painfully; he couldn’t feel the floor beneath his feet.

Suddenly, he felt observed. A tingling feeling in his nape that he couldn’t get rid of. Eyes chasing him, seeing every move he made. He had felt them before. Following him everywhere, through The Stark Tower, through The Avengers Mansion, on his missions with the Team or alone in night. It faded quickly, as always, yet Tony felt like it was more than just a feeling. In his mind, those green appeared again, watching him through the darkness. Always wanting a closer look of him, but never stepping away from the shadows. Tony drank the glass of water before going back to his bed. He felt lightheaded, putting his head on the pillows, so he sank in the mattress deeper, trying to get himself to sleep.

 

Peter Bogart was a man of strong features framed by pasted lenses. His hair was brown and his eyes serious as death. Tony had hired him when the case of the Ambassador had started. He wouldn’t have let SHIELD inform him what had happened. Who had activated his suit, and why. Tony had to know it for himself. He was some kind of ex police-man; however, after just a couple of days Tony had learned that, more likely, he had been much more than that. His clever eyes, hanging around the room, watching the doors, the people’s faces, could tell him that.

‘The name of the man you are looking for is Justin Hammer, Mr. Stark,’ he told him that afternoon, when they had set their meeting at a café near Tony’s office. It was two o’clock in the afternoon. ‘If you look into it you will know that he is one of your company’s greatest competitors,’ he added, sipping from his beer.

‘I know,’ Tony said. He had met Justin Hammer before, not in the best settings. Discover that he was behind his armor’s failure wasn’t that surprising. Tony sipped from his black coffee. He hated the taste, personally, but he wasn’t in the mood to drink something stronger since this morning’s hangover.

‘He controlled the armor with a highly intelligent device. He calls it “the Hypersonic Scan Transmitter,’ Mr. Bogart told him, ‘You can find that information in the letter I send to your office.’

‘Yes, yes, I read that,’ Tony responded. He passed a hand thought his forehead. Peter Bogart’s presence always put him nervous. Was it for his dubious past or for the silent way in which he carried himself, as if he hold no fear against anything, Tony couldn’t tell.He could guess that the detective wasn’t going to tell him the truth about how he had gotten this information. He had learned, since he had hired him, that Mr. Bogart was truly reserved when it came to his methods.

‘I’m going to need to know where he is right now,’ he said, ‘I’ll like to have a few words with him.’

Tony looked for something in his coat right pocket, and extracted from it a discrete letter that he put in the table. Peter Bogart smiled at him while grabbing it.

‘I’ll keep searching then, Mr. Stark,’ he said, standing up from his table. He should be pleased, Tony thought, the man’s fees were indeed expensive. But he wasn’t going to skimp on prices with this.  ‘And when I get something that could be of use to you, I’ll let you know.’

‘I know you will, Mr. Bogart.’

‘Oh, and another thing, Mr. Stark.’

‘Yes?’

‘It is not always wise to carry a weapon when you meet with friends.’

Tony blinked, looking at Peter Bogart’s pasted lenses. His eyes were as black as an abysm. They made Tony shift on his sit, uncomfortable.

‘I didn’t knew we were friends,’ he responded. Without realizing, he had been grabbing the gun on his coat’s pocket. Surely the detective had noticed it right away. Tony carried it with him ever since SHIELD had taken his armor.

‘Of course we are.’

Peter Bogart smiled at him strangely. Most of the time until now, he had remained stoically calm. Tony found himself unable to respond. Peter Bogart took his leave soon after. His shadowy figure leaving the café quietly.

Tony sipped again from his coffee, absently. Such friends he had, he thought.

 

‘Are you ever going to tell me?’ James Rhodes’s voice said, leaning on the seat of the limo. His features relaxed by the drinks they had at The Slow Club.

‘What?’ Tony asked startled. He had briefly lost himself, looking at his cigars smoke, seeing his transparent color fade. The slow drum of jazz in the radio was lulling him. Earlier, when they had entered to hear a broadcaster giving the late night news. Tony had changed the station immediately; he wasn’t interested in hearing anything about those missiles in Cuba everyone was so obsessed with. Right now he just wanted peace.

‘You know. How is he? The Captain,’ his friend exclaimed. ‘They all talk about him, since they put him out of the ice.’

Tony let a bitter laugh come out from his lips.

‘You mean Rogers.’

‘Of course I mean Rogers.’

James Rhode’s figure inclined on his seat, grabbing his drink strongly. Just then, at the sight of his watery yellow eyes Tony through that perhaps they had drink too much. He had never liked Steve Rogers, and he wasn’t feeling like talking about him. ‘He’s an asshole, Rhodes,’ he said dismissively, ‘you don’t want to know about him.’

‘Tony, come on.’

Tony sighed at his friend, searching for the bottle of scotch they had opened half an hour ago. After leaving the club, they had decided to head towards a new bar on the center of the city. A girl friend of Rhodey was singing there tonight. They were going to have a hell of a time, Tony though refilling his glass with satisfaction.

But a brief silence in the air made him second guess himself. Tony raised his head towards Rhode. A smile on his face was slowly disappearing.

‘You know it wasn’t your fault, right, Tony?’ he asked, serious.

‘What wasn’t my fault?’

‘You know. What happened at the Plaza.’

‘I don’t know, Rhodes,’ Tony responded. ‘I don’t know anything about that anymore.’

Tony took another sip from his glass. ‘I designed the armor,’ he murmured, not truly wanting to be heard.

‘Tony, don’t be that hard on yourself,’ Rhodey told him, awkwardly.

But Tony knew better. He always knew better than anyone else. If they told him he didn’t have to worried, or that it hadn’t been his fault, in the back of his skull he always saw the true.

‘But it’s not a lie. I designed it, didn’t I?’

‘…’

Tony drank what was left of his scotch with a gulp.

 

Outside the Stark Tower, through the window of the living room, Tony could see the sky. There was a full moon tonight, glowing in its white light. Surrounding him, all The Avengers sat absent minded. They had reunited to talk about this particular issue, expecting Nick Fury’s verdict. Tony had been expecting this, yet it still felt like a punch in the gut.

‘So that’s how it is going to be now?’ he asked, his voice the first one on been heard on the room after a while.

‘Tony we´re sorry that it has to be like this,’ Dr. Banner said from his spot on the couch. Tony was sure he meant it, at least for himself. But he knew better about the others. Many of the people of the Team had never liked him, that included Rogers and Natasha Romanov especially. Now, apparently, Thor and Clint too. Tony had noticed how the Hawkeye had started to look at him ever since the news of the ambassador’s death saw the light; probably wondering, did he do it? Did he not? Hadn’t the millionaire Tony Stark proved himself the egocentric psychopath people always though he was?

‘I understand, Dr. Banner…’ he whispered on his glass of water, by rule they kept no alcohol in The Mansion. The Mansion Tony had given them, by the way. Upon him he could feel Natasha Romanov’s eyes, beside her, Steve Rogers’ and Clint’s. Thor was the only one standing in front of the living room door, silent. Tony was happy he had never been foolish enough to see any of them as his friends.

From now on, until his case was completely cleared, Tony Stark wasn’t an Avenger anymore.

 

‘Tony, are you drinking?’ Bethany’s soft voice came out of the phone preoccupied. The inflicted tone made Tony tense for a second, his hand clenching around his glass with nerves. He breathed deep, closing his eyes.

‘No…’ he said, as calm as he could. He wasn’t drunk. It was just his second glass. He told himself he could handle this call. He _had_ to.

In the other line, he waited for a response. He heard a small inspiration of air, and then the patient voice of Bethany answering him bitterly.

‘Please, don’t lie to me,’ she asked, Tony could perceive the mild warning in her words. She knew he was lying. He couldn’t pretend, so he stayed quiet, waiting.In the other line, he a sigh.

‘You can’t drown your problems on alcohol all the time, Tony,’ she said. ‘Tell me what happened. I can help you.’

_Help._

A abrupt indignation filled Tony at the choice of word. Needy. Stupid. Incapable. Tony didn’t intent the bitter sound that came out from his lips.

‘I don’t need anyone’s help,’ he told her. A strange aching started on all his body, his chest felt tight, hollow. The drink in his hand was almost empty. There was a pause in the other line. But Tony knew what was coming, when a furious voice responded to him.

‘Okay, Tony. It you want to be like that be so. But if you do, don’t ever call me again.’

Tony felt his jaw clenching at the words.

‘Well maybe I won’t.’

He smashed the phone against his desk with fury. The last bit of alcohol left on his glass trembled. Tony watched towards the closed window of his office, to the dying sun.

 

Tony found himself there again. He always did, when this types of things happened. It was inevitable, like if he couldn’t control it. Only that he could, he always could. But falling was always a most tempting idea. The place wasn’t too crowded tonight, for which Tony was grateful. He didn’t want to get more attention from the press, allowing them to see him like this. Many times during the last weeks, he had found himself been followed from the Stark Tower by petty journalist.

‘How’s the place tonight, Bobby?’ he asked, taking his usual seat at the corner of the place.

‘Fine enough, Tony,’ the bartender responded. He was always happy to see him, maybe because that meant he was having some good profits that night.

Tony ordered his accustomed drink. A strong glass of Scottish whisky, no ice. He had come to like this place, beside the obvious privacy. The darkness. The neon lights in the stage. The slow music always playing. He felt like home here, with the warm sensation of alcohol running down his throat. A corrupted home that perhaps he knew too well. Tony knew he had fucked it up, he knew it, he had fucked it up like he had done with Pepper Pots. And not even all the alcohol of the world would have made him forget that.

Tony was having his fifth glass when he noticed. Near the stage, in one of the tables, a group of young men were singing and drinking. They were having some cheap beers and they were dressed in some funny army uniforms. They seemed to be having the time of their lives, screaming and joking. Probably some privates in their way to Vietnam. Tony laughed, the universe truly was that ironic.

Hours passed. And he got drunk. He could feel his head spinning. The lights of the stage had become a blurry image. The expressions of the people hard to distinguish. In some queer moment, Tony thought he had seen a shadow in one of the bar’s corners, observing him. Tony shook his head immediately. There was nothing at all in that dusty corner. By the time he had asked Bobby about the hour, it was nearly one o’clock of the morning.

It was then when he heard it. A slow blues. A woman singing. And the sound of a sax coming from the stage. Tony tensed on his seat; he knew this song, but he couldn’t place it for a strange reason. He turned his head towards the sound with curiosity and there covered by shadows, he saw her face for the first time. A young woman. Maybe on her twenties. Her curled hair fell upon her shoulders like waterfalls. Her big, blue eyes, shone in the dimness of the bar. She was beautiful.

Tony listened to her sing more time that he could remember. Drossiness slowly climbing on his eyes and shoulders. He forgot about his drink, letting himself relax at every note that came out from the girl’s mouth. That night, he took her to The Tower. She had been surprised at the beginning, when he appeared on the dressing room asking for her. Maybe she had been scared. But Tony’s face was all over the papers these days and she didn’t take too long in recognize him. ‘Would you mind if I invite you a drink?’ Tony had asked, leaning on the doors frame. She had blinked, looking at her watch to see the hour. It was late. Very late. Event hen, the singer girl contemplated the idea, before lifting her purse and leaving with him.

‘Do you live here alone?’ she asked him later, when they entered to the Tower.

‘Most of the time, yes. Do you like it?’

‘It’s pretty big…’

‘That was the idea…’

‘…’

Tony guided her through the hallways, trying to not lose himself in the many rooms of the Tower. He had drunk too much, he realized. His hands were quivering, he could barely concentrate in anything but the girl in front of him.  When he opened his bedroom’s door he couldn’t but let himself be reclined on his bed, feeling the heavy calmness of his own breathing. In and out. His chest slowly contracting. The singer girl got on top of him, carefully. Tony almost couldn’t feel her weight on his body, she was so light, so skinny. He didn’t through about Bethany Cabe, about what she could have thought, how she would have felt. He was too lost. He felt sick, with his stomach all twisted. He would have made a vow to never drink like this again, but he knew it would be worthless. Instead, he looked up at the singer girl. She moved quietly, elegantly, like she had on the stage. And in her face, bright, green eyes glanced at him from above, glowing in the darkness. Green eyes. Tony shuddered, feeling his muscles contracting, his breath been taking away from him. Slowly, he immerse himself in a dream. Fading, until disappearing.

 

 

**Part 3.**

Lured by the night.

 

That morning, as it had become their custom, Tony met again with Peter Bogart in an inconspicuous café downtown. Tony arrived late; it was nearly ten o’clock by the moment he took his seat on the table. He had woken up half an hour ago. He felt his body completely sore, his eyes pushing into his brain like wanting to crash it. He couldn’t remember to have suffered from such hangover in a long time. When Peter Bogart spotted him, Tony could see a mild twitch on his lips. ‘This is what I got,’ he told him, his abysmal eyes covered by some new sunglasses. He dragged a file thought the table, handing it to Tony. It was more like a small bended archive, signed from the outside in a neat, blue ink, with that stylized calligraphy of his that Tony hated so much.

Tony opened it and inside he found pictures, annotations and a map. He looked at Peter Bogart with a mild surprise.

‘He is in Monaco?’ he asked, signaling towards the red circle in the map, just next to the French sea.

‘Yes, he is,’ Mr. Bogart responded.

Tony gazed out at the photos just a minute longer and closed the file.

‘Thank you,’ he said, without much of a smile. He sipped from his coffee, trying to ignore the horrible pounding in his head, and handed to the detective a small but thick letter. Like the last time, he grabbed the money with a strange easiness. ‘Thank _you_ , Mr. Stark,’ he said before leaving. ‘Oh, and there’s something I think you should now.’

‘What would that be?’ Tony asked.

‘The man sitting two tables at your right arrived when you came,’ he told him. ‘He has been there ever since then.’

Tony fought the urge to turn around; he remained stoic, his eyes fixed on the detective.

‘I’ll bet that when you stand up, he’ll do it too.’

Then Peter Bogart walked away, and Tony was left alone in their table.

 

An hour later, walking down a crowded city, Tony could say the detective had been right. His stalker was a short man on his forties with a protruding stomach. He was dressed in a brown coat with a hat and he was striking enough for even Tony to realize he was been followed around all over the city. When he came back to The Tower, he did everything on his power to try to ignore him.

Tony sat on his desk sighing, a gloomy feeling had been stuck with him all morning. Brief memories of the unfortunate events of the last months constantly reappearing. He shook his head and opened the file Mr. Bogart had given him. He couldn’t let his mind wander now. This was the information he had been so eager to find during the last month. Inside there were blueprints, call histories, messages, recorded conversations typed on machine. Everything he could have needed for SHIELD to make a criminal record on Hammer and clear his name. Tony leaned on his chair, looking at the sheets. The only thing was that he didn’t want to do that.

He stood up and walked towards the window; he lifted the curtains lightly, letting a ray of sun make his way through the dark room. He glanced at the street. There it was parked a black car. A Ford Crown Victoria. Apparently his stalker had orders to keep his eyes on him day and night. Tony was sure he was a man hired by SHIELD, most probably by Nick Fury itself. He closed the curtains angrily.

Tony didn’t need SHIELD nor the police to clear his name. He could do it just fine by himself. He saved the archive in his desk drawer and went out thought the door. When he was out in the street, Tony headed himself towards the nearest restaurant and asked to use the phone and through it he made all the arrangements. He could have easily done them on his office, but Tony knew that they had surely intervened his phone too. So from the restaurant, he called and hired a private pilot with his accustomed company. Not papers, just cash. Tomorrow he was making a business trip to Monaco.

 

‘Ms. Arbogast,’ Tony said, entering to the waiting room outside his office. His secretary was an old short woman with dark hair with a certain temper. Her desk was small and made of dark wood, above it there were thousands of files carefully arranged. ‘I’ll need you to take care of some things while I’m away.’

‘Of course, Mr. Stark,’ she said. ‘Anything you need.’

‘Right, I’ll leave a list on your desk before leaving tomorrow.’

‘Mr. Stark?’

‘Yes?’

‘Would you still attend to the Stark Expo this Friday?’

‘…’

Tony bit his lower lip. He had completely forgotten about the Stark Expo. Previous to all of this, he had been waiting for it impatiently. Now, product of the scandal, he doubted he would be the best hostage on the table. It gave him a bitter taste on his mouth. The Expo had been, ever since his father had created it, one of the more important days of the year for the company.

‘No, Ms. Arbogast,’ he said, ‘someone else would have to hostage the event.’

Maybe it was even better like that.

Ms. Arbogast, with the troubled look of an old woman, nodded at his words.

‘As you wish, Mr. Stark…’

When Tony entered to his office again,

 

That night Tony packed his things on a small briefcase, anything he thought he could need on his trip. That included his armor tucked on the old bookcase. When he went to bed. Bethany’s thought came to him briefly, he contemplated the idea of making her know of this, but dismissed it almost immediately. She had neither written nor called, and that meant that by pride matter, he wasn’t going to do it either. His heart sank, at the notion. He didn’t want to think about it. After this, Tony didn’t sleep at all. Constantly he would turn around from side to side, lying on his back, looking at the ceiling. And when he finally did, he had strange nightmares. At some point he stood up frightened, just to find he was still in his room. When he headed towards his nightstand drawer and opened it, he told himself it was just to relax. To catch some good rest. Deep in his bone, he knew that he could no longer sleep peacefully without it. He poured himself what was left of the bottle in the nightstand glass and carried it to his lips. The flavor was warm and strong. It burned.

Then a mild shiver ran down Tony’s back. The wind of the night lifted the curtains of his window. He could have sworn he had closed it. Outside on the street, everything was empty. Tony turned again to his bottle; sure it was just fear playing tricks on him. But that feeling of been watched didn’t disappear. When the unmistakable sound of footsteps came to him, Tony wondered if perhaps this was another dream. He closed his eyes, trying to wake up. But he didn’t. A couple of meters from him, the open window let enter a wave of fresh air. Tony shivered. Through it he could see the hollow night, in the frame, a silent creature watching him.

How he had escalated the window Tony couldn’t know.

He didn’t care either.

‘How long have you been there?’ he asked, putting aside his bottle. Loki was sitting on the window frame, one leg bended and the other one extended until almost touching the floor. His long black hair fell on his face hiding his features. ‘Just some minutes,’ he responded. His voice sounded deeper tonight. Hoarse. But maybe it was just the silence of the hour. Tony had been too much time just listening to his own thoughts.

‘Well, don’t stay there,’ he said, making a gesture towards the room. ‘Come in.’

Loki seemed to think about it. His eyes wandered on the place, on the floor and the walls. He slipped his slender body carefully inside, with a grace Tony couldn’t describe properly. Loki’s eyes stopped on the backpacks beside the drawer, questioning. ‘Are you going somewhere?’ he asked. Tony followed his gaze. He hadn’t finished on packing just yet. He was always messy with those kinds of stuffs.

‘Yeah, I am,’ he responded, putting his lips in a tight line. He could hear, in some place of the street, a car leaving.

‘Why?’

Tony blinked, perplexed. He didn’t quite know how to respond.

‘I’m looking for something.’

Loki didn’t seem convinced with the answer. For a moment his face seemed displaced, troubled. In his forehead, light lines had started to form. It disappeared as quickly as it came. Once again, Tony could perceived that some sadness from before. He couldn’t really comprehend from where it came from. Just that it was there, that it existed.

‘Why did you let me escape that night?’ Loki asked him suddenly. ‘I have meant to ask you back in the party…’ 

At Tony’s mind came a gloomy night and wet streets. The warehouse and the god’s smile in the darkness. Tony was surprised that he himself didn’t have a good answer. Nor an easy one to understand, at least. So he told the one he had kept on telling ever since then.  ‘I was alone; I didn’t had my armor…’

It felt like a lie even for him.

Loki laughed. A bright laugh that showed all of his teeth in a complete different way from when he was mocking people. He looked at Tony intently, and inch by inch the smile went on fading. Then he gave a step forward. And Tony had to blink more than twice to feel like this was reality.

‘I saw you some days ago,’ he said, whispering.

Loki’s face remained blank.

‘You did?’

‘Yeah, at some club downtown.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘I was sat on the bar and I saw a tall man leaving through the door,’ Tony tried to held his gaze still, not let it roam on Loki’s expression, searching for something. ‘I was sure it was you.’

This time Loki was the one who blinked.

‘You think far too much about me, Man of Iron.’

‘…’

Tony straightened his grip on his empty glass, wishing it to be refilled again. It startled him when Loki’s cold hand came to his and took the glass to put it away. ‘You don’t have your armor now,’ the god told him. And a mild panic should have come to Tony at those words. But instead his heart was pounding faster, silently expecting for something to happen. ‘Are you going to let me escape?’ were the words he heard. But by the moment Tony was completely at lost already. He closed his eyes once again, expecting to wake up. This was a dream, he knew. But when he opened them again nothing had changed.

‘Why are you here?’ he asked with bated breath. Loki was just inches away from him. ‘Why am I always here?’ the god answered, tilting his head to one side. A secret message. Perhaps a taunt. Tony felt the chill of the night hours hitting him on him again. Freshness like water on his face. A perfect smattering of what he had to do right now.

He took the god from by his suit collar and cornered him against the wall. In his face he could see a faint surprise, a wail of languid struggle. Tony pushed harder and he stayed quiet. In the air he could see both of their breaths entangled. Tonight Loki’s eyes were of a deep black color, his skin pale enough to look white. Tony could feel a strong hand taking his wrist painfully, trying to bend it. The god was tight-lipped, pressing his body against him to escape. When he couldn’t he stopped, breathing harder. His body slowly relented, and started to slip from the wall to the nightstand. There, Tony put his hands in both of the sides of his head and tried to kiss him. He felt the unpleasant strength of teeth colliding with his lips, but he didn’t cared. He was dizzy with excitement. Below him he could see Loki’s eyes looking back at him, his lips red with soreness and his white neck damp with night sweat. Tony reclined on him. The nightstand squeaked for the heaviness. There he found comfort, a low heartbeat, the wetness of an open mouth with hot lips. Tony’s hand made their paths through back and shoulders. And he felt two long arms cornering his neck. He reclined even more, letting his hands wander further down to find tender flesh.

It lasted little.

Suddenly, the body below him was squirming senseless, trying to get loose. Tony’s first reaction was to add pressure, but the only thing he got was a hand pushing him back. He frowned, grabbing both of Loki’s arms angrily. They fought. Tony could feel elbows digging on his stomach, marrowbones kicking him on his sides repeatedly. On his ears he heard upset whispers that he couldn’t comprehend properly. By then Tony was only wild fury, chest itching in rejection, thinking about his mask, about his armor, about the Carnelian Ambassador and Bethany Cabe. About SHIELD and Ironman, whom he was no longer. And about Tony Stark, that was just a shapeless human form, forever haunted by the past of The Merchant of Death. Tony let go resignedly. And Loki’s body was out of reach immediately.

Tony stumbled backwards, stunned. Loki’s hand grabbed him by the arm unexpectedly. This time, the god was the one putting him against the wall. His green fierce eyes were looking at Tony with sharpness. Suddenly, he remembered that if the god had wanted to break his arm in that moment, he could have easily done it.

‘Don’t do that again,’ Loki’s voice told him.

‘I won’t,’ Tony managed to respond.

Soon the hand softened his grip and Loki’s shady form was taking a step back. Tony’s eyes looked back at him across the room, never that keenly. He tried to speak, say something, anything. But he found himself unable to. Loki’s form remained in the middle of the room, his posture rigid, his face unreadable. A wind blew and he was gone thought the window again. Tony, trapped by an abrupt shame, couldn’t but cover his face with one of his hands.

 

The next day Tony took his flight without having slept a bit. Jarvis helped him to carry his boxes thought the corridors and through the elevator. They said goodbye on The Tower rooftop. There, since five years ago, Stark International had an aircraft carrier.

‘Take care of everything, buddy,’ Tony told to his butler, handing him the keys of his cars and the combination for entering his office. He wouldn’t have given that to anyone else.

‘As you wish, Sir,’ the old butler told him, handing him his backpacks in return.

It was six o’clock in the morning when Tony boarded his Boeing 737. He had bought it to a Jewish of Boeing Commercial Airplanes a year ago, just a month before they entered in Lufthansa’s service. He was sure it could last with him at least ten more years. When Tony entered he put himself comfortable in one of the seats, around him there were one hundred twenty-one empty. Tony knew this decision would eventually cause him trouble. Been the subject of an ongoing investigation, he only seemed guiltier getting away like this. By the end of this trip, Nick Fury could be very well the last one of his problems. But he had decided to avoid any thought correlated with this. His head hurt and with it all his body. He just wanted to let go. In some hours he would land in France, and from there he would take a helicopter to Monaco. In there, not even himself knew properly what was he going to do. Tony tilted his head backwards, trying to rest. Outside, light clouds were moving quietly thought the sky.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So that was it. I really hope you've enjoyed it, I struggled a lot to write this and I'm not completely satisfied with the end I gave it. But that's usual on me xd. If you want to give me some feedback I'll love to know what you think, I usually respond all of the comments.
> 
> I want to apologize for the many problems with the deadlines and thank the persons of the bang for been so patient. Me and my artist's are very messy with those kinds of stuff. I'll put a link to her piece as soon as I can, for the little I've seen, It's truly amazing :)
> 
> LINK: http://tamflakes.tumblr.com/post/133455183558/it-was-there-sitting-in-the-bar-with-a-drink-on


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